08
by Mickey M.
© January 2004

for iconis

The only sound in the room is breathing. It's almost eerie how quiet it is, and JC gives in to the urge to shiver once. Lance is perched above him, straddling him, body warm and solid where it rests against JC. His eyes are dark, arousal shimmering in the depths, making the green almost black. JC won't look at the knife in his hand, though he wants to. Wants to see it glitter sharp and bright, watch the light reflect off it.

"You sure 'bout this?" Lance's voice is deeper than usual, sultry and hot like the south on a humid summer day. JC nods and closes his eyes, relaxing back against the bed.

"Yeah. Do it."

The first prick makes goosebumps break out all over him, makes cold sweat slide down the side of his face. Needlesouchohgodsharpohno-

The prick becomes a stuttering, sharp pain that slides across him, into him. Shallower than a needle could go, drawing it out in a long, red streak, reminding him what this is and isn't. He opens his eyes and looks down, sees bright red well up in the wake of gleaming metal. Lance draws the knife down his chest in a slow, steady line, raising it when he wants a break, until JC's torso is decorated with a series of lines, some long, some shorter, all shining wetly in the soft flickering light.

JC sobs out a breath and shakes beneath Lance when he leans down and licks over the first one. When he kisses JC, the taste of copper burns his lips and tongue, raises the fire raging inside him. Lance shifts to lie against JC, rubs against him until they're both smeared with blood, slick with sweat and semen.